


Chiaroscuro

by outruntheavalanche



Series: ffa drabbles [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Context? What context?, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Not Beta Read, probably out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 11:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: It's only at nighttime that Obi-Wan allows himself to let go.





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted elsewhere.
> 
> I've used this title multiple times in multiple fandoms and I'm not even sorry.

It's only at nighttime that Obi-Wan allows himself to let go. To indulge. It's safer in the dark, not that it's every truly safe to let down one's guard on a ship full of Force sensitive beings.   
  
They're hurtling through space toward some uncertain destiny, and it makes his skin crawl with equal parts anticipation and nerves. He's tried to meditate on the floor of his cabin, but it hasn't helped. He still feels like he has insects squirming under his skin.  
  
So he strips off his robes and lays them out over the end of his cot. Then he collapses onto it and tries to will himself to sleep. It doesn't work.   
  
He lets his mind wander. And then his hand starts wandering, fingers rubbing over his sternum at first and then lower. Lower.   
  
It's wrong for him to indulge—to _feel_ —but he's alone. So utterly, unbearably alone.  
  
His hand moves lower, trailing through the hair on his chest, and lower still.  
  
The images start out innocuous enough—faint flashes of his childhood, a memory from his training days—to Satine. The smell of her perfume. Her blue-green eyes. There are other memories he refuses to let himself examine too closely.   
  
Then his thoughts drift to Anakin. Padmé. He tries to clamp down before they come flowing out, but it's too late. There, the blue of Anakin's eye. The curve of Padmé's smile. The curl of Anakin's hair as it brushes his collar.   
  
Obi-Wan takes himself in hand and, as he finally gives in to his indulgences, he swears he can hear the Jedi Council in his ear, scolding him for his weakness.   
  
He writhes on the cot, thrusting his hips up into the tight circle of his hand, mindlessly.   
  
The door slides open with a sigh and Obi-Wan's eyes fly open. Anakin stands in the doorway, draped in dark robes, his damp hair pushed away from his forehead.   
  
Obi-Wan grabs for his blanket, but it's too late. Anakin's seen him.  
  
"What do you want," he asks, between gulps of air.   
  
"I could sense..." Anakin trails off.   
  
When Obi-Wan opens his eyes and lets them drift back over to Anakin, he realizes he's staring at the outline of Obi-Wan's still-stiff cock through the thin blanket. He shifts his hips a little so that his problem is less noticeable.   
  
"Master," Anakin says.   
  
His tone is... Obi-Wan's not sure what to do with the deepening shades to his tone.   
  
"It's nothing. Go back to bed," he mutters, curling in on himself, shriveling in shame at having been caught.   
  
He hears the rusting of Anakin's robes as he shuffles closer to Obi-Wan's cot. He slides his robe off and lets it pool at his feet like a puddle of ink.   
  
Obi-Wan glances over his shoulder at Anakin.   
  
"Let me help you," Anakin says.   
  
Anakin moves closer, until his knee bumps against the edge of Obi-Wan's cot. He sits down beside him and reaches out, pressing his palm on Obi-Wan's hip. His hand is warm, his fingers like points of light.   
  
Even as Obi-Wan opens his mouth to tell Anakin  _no_  he knows he's going to say yes. He's going to let Anakin take what he wants.   
  
Obi-Wan slowly rolls onto his back and scoots over to make room for Anakin, who tucks himself in against his side. His hand goes wandering, moving in a familiar way down Obi-Wan's bare chest. Their fingers brush, tentatively at first, and then Anakin laces them together and starts moving their hands over Obi-Wan.  
  
It doesn't take much longer until Obi-Wan's release is upon them and he's jerking and bucking against their hands, soundlessly, still ashamed but perhaps not as much as before.   
  
Anakin's breath is warm and heavy on his sweat-damp neck.   
  
"It's all right, Master," Anakin murmurs, sliding his hand away.   
  
Obi-Wan isn't so sure, but he nods anyway. "Thank you."  
  
Anakin smiles at him, his eyes glinting gold in the dim light of a passing moon.


End file.
